


Healing Salve

by arfcommer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU: Military, F/M, Hearing Loss Clint, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arfcommer/pseuds/arfcommer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After surviving injury in war Clint learns that some healing goes further than skin deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

It’s on an early morning run the first time Clint sees him. _Him_ being the squad leader calling cadence for the herd of Rangers running towards him.  Clint gives him a nod as they pass, taking in the snug fit of the white tee shirt across his chest. 

            After his run, and a shower, he makes his way across Ft. Lewis towards Madigan Medical Center and another fun-filled visit with Dr. Banner.  “How’s the arm feeling?”  Clint shrugs, his left shoulder rising while the right stays stationary. 

            “About the same, some tingling in my fingers, an occasional shot up my arm, but that’s about it.”  He tugs at the sling; at least when he runs he can wear a sweatshirt over it and the pull the hood up to cover his face. 

            “Have you been following your PT?”  Dr. Banner gives him a look like he knows Clint’s been slacking.  “All of your post-surgical PT?”

            Clint gives him an easy smile, “Stark is a sadist.”

            “That he might be, doesn’t mean it doesn’t help.”  He makes a notation on the chart he’s holding.  “And the hearing?”

            “Huh?”  Clint smirks, “there’s still a bunch of noise, but nothing that sounds like anything.”  His hand crosses his chest to pull out the cotton stuffing “There’s this pressure like after you go swimming, like if it would just pop it’d be ok.”

            “Let’s take a look.”  Dr. Banner dons a pair of light blue nitrile gloves while Clint removes the beanie that covers his right ear and a small portion of that side of his face.  “The shirt too Sergeant.”  Clint rolls his eyes, but removes the sling and wrapping before pulling his shirt off and cradling his right arm with his left.

            Dr. Banner’s touch is gentle as he manipulates the mostly healed scarred flesh that stretches from Clint’s right hip to just above his right ear, it stops abruptly where his helmet and helmet liner were worn.  “The eye still tearing up?”  He shines a penlight and makes Clint blink. 

            “The eye is good, the reduction on the eyelid helped a lot.”  Clint winces when the Doctor tilts his head to the left, the movement forcing the scars on his neck to stretch. 

            “The PT would help with that.”  Banner slides a headlamp over his head and begins the ear exam.  Clint can feel an occasional pull as Banner manipulates the ear, but can only hear the constant hum of tinnitus.  Banner works his way from the ear to the scars on his face making a dissatisfied noise at the keloid forming near his mouth before moving down to his neck and asking Clint to move his head in every direction.  He tisks the keloids forming there as well.  “Vertical movement is good, the perpendicular I’m concerned about.”  His fingers trail from the neck to his shoulders and Clint hisses.  “That hurts?”

            “Just sensitive, some spots I don’t feel anything, some are really touchy.”

            Banner reaches out to a tray and grabs the Wartenberg Wheel, to Clint it looks like a tiny spur at the end of a stick, but he knows it’s to check his sensation.  “Let me know where the dead spots are and anything that’s painful.”  He goes over the bumpy and pitted flesh, careful to avoid anything that isn’t completely healed.  He makes multiple passes until he’s mapped every inch from neck to wrist.  “I think we’re going to have to do a reduction for your hand I’m afraid.”

            Clint lets out a shaky breath as Dr. Banner pulls Clint’s curled fingers straight.  Clint knows the pain in his fingers, the sensitivity n his arms is a good thing.  A sign that his nerves weren’t completely destroyed by a flaming hummer, even still pain is pain.  “Any point in fixing ‘em if they’re not going to work?”

            Dr. Banner pushes back from the exam bed, his wheeled stool stopping as he makes eye contact with Clint.  “It’s going to take some time, some more healing, and a lot. . .I mean a LOT of Physical Therapy, but it’ll happen.”

            Clint nods as Banner scoots closer again to finish the exam, checking the painter, pinker scars along his ribs, his back, and his front before turning a critical eye to the burns that still haven’t healed completely.  “Are you keeping these covered?  Dry?  Applying the Silvadene as prescribed?”  Clint nods. 

            “Give this to Stark, it’s important for you to do this.”  Banner hands him a sheet for Physical Therapy.  “I also want you to see audiology again and come back for a pre-op visit about your hand.”  HE begins rewrapping Clint’s arm with the sterile mesh sleeve and sterile wrapping.  “Keep using the Silvadene on the wounds, but I want you to start using something on the scars too.”  He writes a prescription as Clint tugs on his shirt one-handedly and pulls the black sling over his head before grabbing his right arm and threading it in the pouch. 

            It’s difficult to put the beanie back on, but Clint makes sure to have it in the place.   The right side pulled down to cover as much as he can and his right ear.  He wonders if he can still call it that now that all it really is is a hole on the side of his head, the shell melting away to smooth lumps, the scars blending in the with the others around it.  He knows better that to ask Dr. Banner, just takes the paperwork and gives him a smile to schedule to the pre-op visit soon.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

   Clint hesitated outside the door, he wanted to go in, needed to go in, but couldn’t bring himself to twist the knob and push.  He ducked his head down as his breathing faltered.  Sweat began prickling up all over as he panted and felt like he was going to be sick.  He knew it was the start of a panic attack, he might not have stuck with seeing a therapist, but it had been mandatory at Landstuhl.  He just wanted to flee, to turn around and _run_ the hell away from the door.  Anywhere was better than there.  He tried to take a deep breath.  He felt horrible, knowing that every time he came to the hospital for his appointments and physical therapy that he was in the same building.  Clint had tried to visit before, but today was the first time he had made it as far as he had.  Every other time he had turned around. 

   His eyes still pointed at his chest he focused the red and white mottled fingertips sticking out of his splint.  The cryotherapy had left behind very thin skin and he briefly wondered if he had fingerprints anymore.  He could see what his arm looked like as well, even though it was covered.  A mishmash of textures and colors.  HE knew his face was the worst; not only striking in its patchwork of reds, whites, pinks, and light browns, but bumpy and uneven save for the small lump that used to be an ear.  A face like wax that had been left too long in the sun.  He wasn’t sure if he could handle seeing that on someone else.  Someone he called a friend. 

   He shook his head, maybe now wasn’t a good time.  He come back another time.  Once he had healed a bit more.  Once he was sure it was okay.  He argued with himself, beating himself up for not coming sooner, for being too scared to open the door.  To face what was on the other side. 

   “If you want to come with me I can get you suited up.”  Clint jumped at the voice that broke through his mini-freak-out.  “I’m sure he’d love a visit.”  The short curly haired nurse took a step closer to Clint, his eyes flicking briefly over his scars when Clint turned to face him. 

   “We, uh” Clint took a steadying breath, “we served together.”  His voice sounded rough, “how’s he doing?”  He carefully raised his right arm with his left and tilted his head to display the whole of his injuries.   “We were together when. . .”  His voice trailed.

   “It’s alright, let’s get you gowned and masked.  I was just about to go in and check on him, you can come in with me if you like.”  He smiled and waved his hand for Clint to follow him. 

   “Hey corporal it’s Fitz, I’ve brought a friend today.”  The nurse’s voice was loud in the room.  He immediately went to the bedside and started checking the hanging bags of fluid while Clint stayed stuck to the floor just inside the door.  “He said his name was Clint.” 

   The nurse glanced at Clint prompting Clint to take a few tentative steps, “Can he hear me?”

   “I can’t say for sure, but I talk to him all the time.  Can’t hurt.”  He took a step back, “Why don’t you stay here for a few minutes, I need to grab some new bandages.  I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

   Clint raised his eyebrows over the mask in silent thanks, seeing the sterile dressings on a tray, but knowing the young nurse was giving them some privacy. 

   He stared down at his friend seeing for the first time the extent of his injuries.  He was covered from head to toe in sterile dressing that were coated in petroleum jelly.  The bed tilted every few minutes to prevent too much pressure on any one area of his battered body.  Clint bit back his emotions at seeing his friend this way.  He wanted to reach out, to say something, to touch him and make sure he really was alive.  His eyes burned and his chest tightened painfully instead.  When he spoke the words were wrenched from his soul.  “I’m sorry Wade, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you and I didn’t save Sam.”


	3. Chapter Three

Clint didn’t run from the burn unit, but it was a near thing.  He ripped the gown, hat, and facemask off and dumped them in the trash as he fled.  He forgot about the booties covering his shoes until he slipped while turning a corner.  He didn’t bother with the elevator, slamming the crash bar for the stairs and jogging down and out to the parking lot.  He fumbling getting the key in the ignition of his truck, the watchband of his left hand catching on the flasher button as he reached over the steering wheel.  When the engine roared to life he drove, no destination in mind, just anywhere but where he was.  Away from the hospital.  Away from the base.  He didn’t even bother to return the wave from the gate guard as he crossed from military to the civilian world, just kept his eyes on the road. 

He followed the signs towards Tolmie State Park, figuring a park on the banks of Puget Sound was as far away from the Army as he could get.  He slammed the door of the truck at a gas station on the edge of the park, going inside to grab Gatorade, snacks, and a pack of Marlboro’s.  He cursed the tiny flinch when he brought the lighter towards his face.  Between the smell and the flame, well it was better than how he used to jump. 

Seeing Wade, being in the hospital made his skin feel too tight, made him itchy, it made him want to run.  He got out near the water, the wide open space welcoming after being on base.  It wasn’t something Clint could explain to people, but civilian air was different from military air.  He let the scent of pine and sea seep in and replace the smell of the hospital.  All the green was almost overwhelming after having spent over two years in Afghanistan and the three years prior to that in Iraq. 

He didn’t care that he was missing his Physical Therapy, ignoring his cell going off.  He’d bring his new orders to Stark tomorrow.  Today Clint just needed his solitude.  Later he’d call Steve back, the man had already left both voicemail and text messages, but for now Clint just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. 

Clint and Wade had met in Sniper school, the two of them instantly clicking over a shared love of Mexican food, beer, pop culture references, crude humor, and the irrevocable truth that as a team they were unstoppable.  Barton as the designated marksmen and Wilson as his spotter.  There wasn’t anything the two of them couldn’t accurately ventilate.  They were also both cocky, but they could back up the boastfulness and the bragging.  The Barton/Wilson duo had met the Barnes/Wilson duo during their second tour in Iraq when the four had been integrated in the same regiment.  Some administrative Fobbit had mixed up orders due to the similar team names. 

Bucky, Sam, Wade, and Clint.  The four of them got themselves into more trouble than most, but between Bucky’s smile, Wade’s puppy dog expressions, Sam’s ability to radiate calmness no matter the situation, and Barton’s baby blues they usually got out of it too.  The four also worked well together, a well-greased machine of accuracy, results, and the adaptability.  Even when they had to go silent and off-grid to track they always completed their mission. 

That was what led to them being outside Asmar.  They were sent out together to track a training camp.  Intelligence had gathered Intel that there was to be some sort of ‘leadership conference’ with the cell leaders.  The Intel had been solid, five threats had been eliminated.  At their rallying point Barnes had been limping.  Bucky had brushed it off as being just a sprain from when he and Sam had beat a hasty retreat to avoid detection.  Clint had just gotten behind the wheel and headed towards Asadabad.  There was a hospital there, and telling the sergeant that they would be back to pick him up when medical cleared him.

After checking in with command, giving their reports, and getting new orders Sam, Wade, and Clint got back in the hummer.  After debating whether to sleep or eat Wade mentioned some ‘sick dunes’ on the outskirts of the town.  The three got back in the hummer, Clint sitting climbing in the back to stretch out.  A couple of jumps and a hard landing or two later Clint’s bladder was attempting to revolt. 

“Pull over so I can take a piss.”  Clint yelled over the sound of the radio directly into Wade’s ear from his seat behind the driver.  Clint had barely rezipped with he heard Sam’s panicked yell of ‘RPG’ and threw himself flat on the ground.  He felt the impact, it was a tremble then heat.  A flash he could see through closed eyes.  HE could hear the screams as he got back on his feet and ran towards his friends.  He reached in driver’s side window, his right arm reaching out for Wade who was reaching out for Sam. 

After that the memories are only in pieces.  Clint can remember being in the helicopter (kind of).  He remembers being cold and it being windy, that someone was leaning over him and cutting his clothes off and yelling.  So much yelling.  He thinks some of it might have come from him.  The smell.  Oil and heat.  Plastic melting and the scent of barbeque.  Charcoal briquettes and hair.  It was cold.  Shivering and wetness.  Pain.  So much pain.  His face, his arm, his side, his head.  He’s wet and cold and the pain is everywhere. 

HE tries to listen; about himself he hears full-thickness, debridement, infection, and that he’s being sent to Landstuhl.  About Wade; infection, isolation, coma, not promising, and medevac.  He doesn’t hear anything about Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone thinks I need to I can give definition for any words that aren't easily defined when it comes to the medical terminology (i.e. Keloids, Wartenberg Wheel, medication names/treatments). This story very loosely draws on the authors first hand experience with burns and hearing loss, but due to different circumstances.


End file.
